


Estranged

by pinkbubblesgo (lavatorylovemachine)



Series: Jukebox Stories [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1990s, California, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grunge-bashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Male-Female Friendship, Nostalgia, Past Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Past Romance, Song Lyrics, Unnamed city, hair metal, original lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/pinkbubblesgo
Summary: Dedication: To Hayley.





	Estranged

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: To Hayley.

Working as a cleaning boy at Hairspray Records wasn't the most respectable position in the world, but it paid Tommy's bills and that was enough for him. All things considered, the label’s headquarters were the only place in the city where he could proudly wear his denim jacket and jeans and not have anyone give him strange looks. It was the spring of 1994 and his black hair was still way past his shoulders. He didn’t care. Hairspray Records was like a little oasis, the only label that gave a chance to nostalgics like himself. Tommy didn’t need to know what was going on in the outside world.

Except for that day. It was early in the morning and Tommy was swiping off the dust of an old platinum record on the wall when his boss Carl called in for a meeting. Tommy had no place between engineers and technicians, so he stood on a corner while smoking a cigarette.

"Alright,” Carl started, “we have a special new client coming here this afternoon and I want you to work at your best.” He paused and looked at every one of his employees. “Terri Kills has chosen us for his first solo album”.

There was absolute silence for a while, as if a huge block of ice had been dropped at the room.

“No, he hasn't,” the mastering guy, named T.J., said dismissively.

Their boss smirked proudly. “No, I’m not making this up. Terri Kills is coming over.”

“Why would he do that, having thousands of other labels practically begging for him?” one of the engineers said. “I’ll only believe this when I see him walking through that door.” And his head pointed at the building’s entrance.

“He chose us precisely because we’re a small label. He’s through with the Hollywood millionaire crap.”

Another long silence T.J. was squirming in his seat like a little kid. “Oh man, I gotta bring my Terror Dolls albums for him to sign…”

“Good, but be here by three, please. Punctuality is key here.”

“Okay, boss,” he said and left.

Tommy was the only one who hadn’t said anything the entire time. He took out a cigarette package out of his left pocket, lightened it and walked off.

Crossing a long hallway surrounded by recording booths there was a small garden, which looked even more beautiful now that it was spring. Tommy closed the door behind him, sat on the bare grass and started smoking. His throat itched at the touch, the smoke mixing with the growing pressure irradiating from his chest upwards.

The fingers holding the cigarette trembled. It had been almost a year since it all happened, but in a strange way it felt like something from a little while ago. Tommy had all the Terror Dolls albums, guitar picks and all kinds of merchandise of the band upstairs, but he hardly ever looked at them. In fact, they were still in a sealed moving box he’d labeled as “Music”.

And the memories struck him yet again, this time clearer than ever.

Liz was turning purple, despite everyone’s efforts to wake her up. Tommy knelt next to her inert body in the shower, giving her slaps on both of her cold cheeks. He broke down in tears.

“We need to make her vomit!” Steve shouted next to him and shoved him away.

“What are you doing, man? She’ll choke!”

“Shut up!”

Steve poured a handful of detergent into her mouth, and she swallowed and vomited a bit. She opened her eyes slightly.

“Liz!” Tommy ran towards her and held her from the shoulders. “Don’t die, okay? It’s gonna be alright, it’s gonna be alright…”

But then, her eyes closed again. Tommy broke down in tears.

“Dude, the cops will be here any minute now! You’ve got to clean this up.”

Tommy looked at Steven as if he was mad. “I’m going with her in the ambulance. What do I care about the junk?”

“You’ll get arrested before they even let you—“

The ambulance’s sound echoed across the house, across the entire street. Liz still laid there without moving and Tommy looked up at Steven, but he was no longer there. He felt footsteps along the corridor.

Someone opened the glass door and Tommy turned around. It was his boss.

“Care to share?”

He had always tried to make Tommy open up more, with no results. He was given another cigarette, and they started smoking together.

“I need to go upstairs for a few hours,” Tommy said while staring at the clear sky.

“Okay,” Carl agreed, looking slightly confused. “Don’t get lost, boy.”

“I won’t”.

 

 

Tommy opened the attic’s door. That was his home; it had been for the past ten months. Records, clothes, hygiene tools, a guitar case without a guitar because he had to sell it, that was all he needed. He sighed and noticed the probation notice on the floor. It meant two more weeks of peeing in a cup, then it was over.

He closed the door, grabbed a knife from the floor and used it to open the “Music” box. The Terror Dolls records were the first thing in sight, but below them were photographs and other albums from the time. Tommy gazed at one of the photos with a tiny smile on his lips. He and Liz were hugging and smiling in front of a stadium, both sporting Dolls t-shirts. Tommy remembered that it was Steve who took the picture.

“We’re gonna be late, Tommy!”

“Yeah, hang on a sec, Liz.”

A twenty-year-old Tommy was checking himself on the bathroom’s mirror. He applied one last bit of hairspray on his black curls, smirked in satisfaction and walked out to where Lizzy was waiting. It wasn’t the best apartment in the world, with the wood cracking all the time and the noisy neighbors, but it was all Tommy and Liz could afford.

Liz took his hand and said with a grin: “Let’s go.”

Outside there was Frank’s old ’56 Alpha Romeo, with him and his girlfriend Tiffany in it on the front seats. Steve and Alex were waiting for them at the entrance of the arena. Tommy and Liz jumped in the car and it drove off.

Two hours later they were all yelling the Doll’s songs at the top of their lungs, on front row thanks to Steve, who had a lot of money and always got good seats for everyone. Tommy remembered with a trill how good it felt to hug Liz from behind, and the many times they kissed during that show and didn’t care if people were watching.

After the concert they went camping on Malibu beach, with drinks on account of Steve and Alex. It was the beginning of December, and the fire heat felt good to everyone. They were drinking and listening to Tommy play Poison songs on his acoustic guitar.

“… _just like every night has its dawn_ …” Tiffany and Frank sang.

“Hey, Tommy,” Steve said. Tommy looked up at his friend but continued playing. “Are you up for rehearsal this Monday?”

Tommy stopped playing. “Monday night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“My shift ends at eleven, dude. I don’t know…”

“Thursday, then?”

“Yeah, Thursday’s fine.”

“We’ll play my songs, though,” Alex said.

“You can’t write worth shit, Alex,” Steve said and chuckled.

“I’ve gotten better. My new one sounds like something Britny Fox would put out.”

“Yeah, right.”

In between laughter, Tommy resumed his playing. But then, they heard a little girl moaning.

“Let go of me, daddy! Let go!”

Her dad was pulling her by the arm, his face wrinkling with anger. “We’re heading home, Carol, whether you like it or not.”

“But I don’t want to go home! Please---“

The man pulled the little girl more strongly and started dragging her with him. Tommy stood up.

“I’m gonna beat that fucking coward.”

“Don’t,” Frank said. “You’ll get in trouble. He’s bigger than you.”

“So?”

“I wish there were lifeguards at night,” Alex’s girlfriend, Jennifer, commented.

Tommy started walking away, but Frank stopped him.

“What are you doing, Tommy?”

“I’m gonna beat him up.”

“Just call the cops, man!”

“Cops are no use. That sack of shit needs to know what he deserves.”

“Is this personal to you?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What? Of course not.”

“Then sit back with us. See, he’s not even pulling her anymore.”

Tommy followed Frank’s eyes and saw that the little girl was walking alongside her dad.

“Fine.”

Once they reunited with the group, Tommy found Liz playing with sand between her shaky fingers. She had refused to watch the entire scene and still looked down. Tommy left his guitar to Frank, sat next to her and cuddled her close as she continued to touch the sand. She didn’t need to say any words.

 

 

 

They met at one of the Terror Dolls shows, on a Sunday night. It was so crowded that Tommy couldn’t help bumping into people, until one of those people was a long-haired blonde and he apologized, stuttering. When she turned around he saw the most beautiful smile in the world for the first time.

“Hey,” the mixer was suddenly at the garden door, “you better come back before Carl loses it.”

“Right…” Tommy mumbled. He put the items back in the box before leaving the attic.

Tommy was never a musical genius, but he had passion, or so everyone else said. When he and Carl met, he was on the streets, playing hair metal on his acoustic guitar for a dime. Carl watched him for an entire song before deciding Tommy was the right person to join Hairspray Records. The boy only said it once, but he was thankful to Carl for giving him a job, a place to sleep and keeping him off the streets. All in all, however, Tommy was lacking in other areas, things he knew too well about.

“You know?” an engineer told him while plugging and unplugging equipment. “It’s fucking acoustic shit, we’re not gonna do much work here. I don’t know why Carl insisted on us staying.”

Tommy sighed, staring down at the jacks, and looked at his watch: Terri was half an hour late.

He really wished he could leave. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Terri Kills and all the memories that came with him walk through the door. But if Tommy left he would get no pay, and he couldn’t afford that for now.

Some twenty minutes later, Terri arrived at the studio, shook hands with Carl and waved discretely at everyone else. His hair was shoulder-length now; and he wore sunglasses and a simple outfit. He didn’t look exactly old (he must have been around 31 now) but there was some odd wisdom vibe in him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as soon as he walked into the recording room.

Under normal circumstances, T.J. would have gone mad at an artist arriving late, but now he was head over heels. It was amusing to watch, Tommy thought.

“No worries, man. Huge fan,” and they shook hands. “I have all the Dolls records. And I went to that show in Philly where you got pissed and smashed your guitar.”

Terri chuckled. “I didn’t know people still remembered that. But thanks. And thanks for letting me work with you guys.”

“Oh no, it’s our pleasure,” Carl said. Then he sent everyone to their position.

Tommy had stayed quiet the whole time, even though he had a huge Terror Dolls tattoo on his right shoulder and was definitely more of a dedicated fan than that T.J., _ass-kissing idiot_. _Whatever, it’s not like I would have come up with something to say_ , he thought. It was weird enough to see Terri Kills so calm and collected, barely resembling the cocaine-infused unpredictable guitarist Tommy remembered. It felt almost surreal.

The recording went by smoothly, with the employees doing their job right and Terri making it easier for everyone. He hadn’t lost his skills, not one bit. For his part, Tommy was trying not to listen to the songs and just focus on the thought of getting home later that night; but somehow the music got through him. It was soothing, warm, but rough and honest at the same time.

_On the outside, I’ve gotten clean_

_But still feel guilty on the inside_

_Forgive me for my sins_

_But thank me for the ride_

Tommy started feeling a wave of relief and something similar to happiness, which hadn’t happened to him in years.

And then, without realizing it, three songs of the album were already finished. Tommy figured it was a good idea to come out and said goodbye to Terri with everyone else, otherwise they’d think something was wrong with him.

“This was fun”, Terri was saying. “You have a good equipment and stuff in here. For a small label, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, half-proud, half-amused, “I still don’t understand why you chose us.”

“Well, I wanted things to be simpler. Just me and my guitar, you know. No big fuss about it.”

“The songs are great,” Tommy noted, trying to repress the knot in his stomach. Well, at least now no one will think I’m off my rocket.

“Thank you,” Terri smiled at Tommy, cigarette-yellow teeth showing up. Then he faced everyone at once. “I really hope things keep going steady, guys. See you next week.”

Tommy had copied the songs to a tape for himself and brought it home. With eyes closed, he tried to relax again to the sound of that good old blues rock again. It was as if Terri knew about Tommy’s life, as if they had somehow gone through the same things even though Terri was a star and Tommy a simple mixer. He smiled, thinking of how rare it was to find music that spoke to him in 1994.

For the next two weeks Tommy began to feel better. And when he got the last probation notice stuck to his door, indicating he was clean and no longer had to get tested, he decided to celebrate on the bar located right next to the label’s headquarters. It was called Zuma’s.

The place had the kind of music that instantly brought Tommy down again. _Rape me, rape me again / I'm not the only one_ , the lyrics said. He was about to leave, but soon spotted Van Halen and Quiet Riot posters on the walls, purple and blue neon lights (some the shape of female figures) that reminded him of Hollywood, so he decided to stay.

It was half empty, on account that it was a week day and it wasn’t that late in the evening yet. Tommy scanned the place and went to sit on the bottom left corner, where he wouldn’t be bothered. The waitress came with the carte and Tommy ordered a whiskey.

As he waited, Tommy looked around. The bartender, pouring drinks, was female and had bright red hair, but her eyes and nose stroke familiarity in Tommy. He was sure he had seen her somewhere, years ago.

He got up in a jolt and ran towards the label’s building. In long strides, he reached for his attic and got one of the Terror Doll’s records. He opened it, slid out the booklet and flipped through the pages.

There she was, on the top right corner of the pictures collage, with her arms around Terri. She had vibrant black hair back then and looked no older than sixteen. Tommy recalled with a slight smile the big scandal that their relationship had stirred up back then. _Terri Kills on charges for ‘dating’ a minor,_ the papers read. And still, the girl had joined them on their first tour with no problems.

Tommy left the record and booklet on the mattress and ran back towards the bar. Panting, he reached for the bar and sat on one of the stools. The waitress eyed him, confused, and put his whiskey glass in front of him.

Tommy drank the first sip of liquor he'd had in a year. The strong taste revitalized him, renewed him.

“Hey,” he called the waitress before she left, “is the bartender here called Kitty Lovell?”

The waitress frowned again. “ _Rose_ Lovell. Why?”

Tommy shrugged. “I just remember her from somewhere.”

He drank more whiskey and looked up when Kitty showed up at the bar again. Emboldened by the alcohol, Tommy asked: “Are you Kitty Lovell?”

“What?” Kitty smiled slyly and frowned as she moved towards the vodka bottles behind her.

“Kitty Lovell. You dated Terri Kills from the Terror Dolls.”

The girl left the bottles on the bar and faced Tommy, still smiling the same way. “Not so loud, buddy. I’m Rose now.”

There was silence, followed by an exchanging of smiles.

“You a fan?” she asked.

Tommy nodded with enthusiasm. “Big one. Why did you change your name? Terri didn’t get arrested.”

“No, he didn’t”, Rose said as she continued to work, “but some people… they still pointed at me, you know. That’s why I decided to start anew here.”

Tommy drank as he watched her give new drinks to the waitress.

“Terri’s here, you know,” he said. “He’s recording his solo album.”

Rose caught Tommy’s glance and smiled in the same way. “And you know this, how?”

“I work over there at Hairspray. You know, the—“

“The label, yeah,” Rose said as he cleaned one of the glasses. She sighed, smirking. “I’m not gonna go after him, if that’s what you think. This is just a coincidence.”

“Sorry,” Tommy said and chuckled nervously. “I guess I was just curious.”

“Don’t worry. Paul and I ended in good terms, but it’s been ages. I have a boyfriend now, actually.”

“Ah. Cool.”

“What’s your name?” Rose asked.

“Tommy.”

“And what brings you here on such a slow day, Tommy?”

“My probation is over. I came here to celebrate.”

Rose chuckled. “Oh yeah, I remember those days.”

Tommy held his glass high and Rose had to grab a shot of tequila.

“To no more peeing in a cup,” Tommy said.

“To no more peeing in a cup.”

They were chuckling now. Tommy finished his glass and asked for another one.

“You guys must be low on bands these days,” Rose said as he poured whiskey on Tommy’s glass.

“Yeah, they’re mostly those bubblegum bands that dye their hair different colors.”

“Like Heart Throb Mob?”

“Yeah,” Tommy’s face brightened up. “You know them?”

“I went to their show last Saturday.”

“Nice,” Tommy said, grinning, and took a shot of his drink.

He noticed posters of other, more current bands around, but didn’t say anything.

“Why were you on probation?” Rose suddenly asked. She was smirking as she leaned on the bar. “I'm a curious cat, wanna know the whole story.”

Tommy wasn’t expecting that. He thought of running back to the label and forget he ever talked to Kitty Lovell, but the liquor made him stay. He was feeling like opening up, even just a little bit, even if his voice was rusty from lack of use.

“I was on drugs,” he said, wishing the whiskey didn’t make him sound louder. “Then my girlfriend overdosed and I got busted with the stuff…” he paused and took a slug. “I was sent to a cheap rehab to get clean… Place was horrible… then I moved here, found a job at Hairspray. My boss lets me stay in the attic. Fuck, I don’t even have a place of my own.”

Rose helped herself with some whiskey, drank it and looked at Tommy. Her eyes were understanding and sad at the same time.

“I know what it’s like,” she said. “Not literally, because I’ve never been deep in the shit, but I watched friends died, some of them come and go out of rehab, two of them died of AIDS, so… It’s tough, I know.”

“How did you… How did you manage? I mean, to leave all that behind and come here.”

“Well, I figured my friends wouldn’t want me to crumble or give up because of what happened to them. I want them to see me happy, the dead, wherever they are. As for the alive ones, I’m there to support them, pick them up, so I stay strong for them. It’s what friends do, right?”

“I wouldn’t know. I lost my friends too.”

“Dead?”

Tommy shook his head. “We went separate ways, after my girlfriend died. Some went back to college, others just stopped talking to me.” He drank some more.

“That’s weird. Were you really close?”

“Yeah," he lightened up. "We liked the same music and had a band. Played glam metal covers only."

Rose grinned. “My friend Joe was in a band too. They kicked some asses while they were active.”

The waitress came with another order and Rose took out the tequila bottle to star pouring it on tiny glasses.

Tommy was grinning back. “So you’re not into grunge at all?”

“Ew, no,” Rose chuckled. “I mean, what’s this ‘I hate myself and I wanna die’ thing? I don’t understand it."

“Right? Not even I like it, and I’ve been feeling pretty low for a year.”

“A year?” Rose glanced at him sympathetically while she cleaned more glasses.

“Yep, a year since it all happened.”

His last sentence came out as mere muttering, but oddly enough, he felt liberated saying it.

Rose had his back on him, to the kitchen behind her.

“Would you change the station, please?” she said.

The lyrics that resonated through the bar consisted of only three words, but Tommy smiled as he recognized them instantly. _Come here, baby._

“Man, Aerosmith will never get old,” he said.

“You betcha.”

While Tommy finished his whiskey, Rose prepared more drinks for the other clients and gave them to the waitress. Then he looked at his watch: it was past midnight.

“Sorry, I gotta crash,” he said and stood up, to which Rose smiled. “Can’t get too drunk either.”

“It’s cool. You’re welcome to come back any time.”

“I will. Thanks.”

 

 

Tommy was strapped to a narrow bed. He felt feverish and nauseous, every one of his bones hurt like hell and he had only one intention: jumping out the window. As soon as the nurses untied him...

He remembered Liz, how he had missed her funeral because he was locked up in the hospital. A nurse came by every morning and asked him routine questions, utterly ignoring Tommy’s jerking and writhing and only checking his vital signs. It’s only a few days of withdrawal, kid, it’ll be over soon. But soon never came soon enough.

Steve had left, everybody had left and nobody went to see him. His parents were, long before the heroin, ashamed of him.

Tommy still had the vivid image in his mind of him smashing all the objects around the room in unaltered rage and pain after the paramedics took Liz away. He was an utter coward; he had hidden in the closet and then, when everybody was gone, shot up all the heroin left. Because why waste it, right? Fuck. He wished he could have been a better person, a better boyfriend... And the words of Steve’s father came to him.

“Do something with your life, kid. What do you like?”

“I like music.”

The man glanced at him for a while, then turned on the lawn mower and started working on the tall grass.

“I meant something real,” he said loudly, over the machine. “Don’t you plan to go to college?”

“I don’t have the money, sir.”

“That’s no excuse… This is America, if you work hard enough you can achieve anything.”

Steve stopped using long before Tommy did, got into Yale and, according to his calculations, was about to graduate as a lawyer. _A goddamn lawyer_.

Someone knocked on the door and opened it, waking Tommy up.

“Recording time, buddy,” T.J. said.

 

 

 

Terri had another song, the eighth of his album, that talked about death. It was about Terri's sister, who had passed away the year before. Nobody, not even fans knew about that fact yet. From the control room, Tommy looked up to his idol and understood; understood that he wasn’t so alone after all.

“Great work, guys,” Terri said after the session was over. “I think we’ll be done in like, three more days.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Carl said. “It’s always quick with pros like you, Terri.”

“Nah, you give me too much credit. It’s all thanks to Dean,” Terri’s head pointed at another guy in the booth, who took a small vow.

The bell rang and T.J. went to open the door.

“Hello, I’m looking for Tommy?” Rose’s voice said.

“He works here, why?” T.J. said as Tommy quickly left the booth.

“He owes me money.”

“Fuck…” Tommy said and started walking towards the door. T.J. had turned around.

“Got into trouble, Tommy?” he said smiling, but Tommy could tell he was weary too.

“I forgot to pay for some drinks,” Tommy said, barely glancing at his coworker. He turned to Rose. “I’m so sorry. Really. I’ll go get my wallet.” He gave a few steps backwards but stopped himself. “Actually, I’m unpacking today. Wanna come over?”

“Sure, why not,” Rose said and joined Tommy.

“Unpacking what?” T.J. asked, but Tommy didn’t answer.

On their way to the second story, Rose commented:

"You're quiet around them," Rose observed.

Tommy didn’t say anything at first. He made a face and grabbed his nose as they walked away from the recording booths.

"They've gotten used to it," he finally said.

"Do you guys not get along?"

"No, we do… It's just that they get curious about my life, and I ain't telling shit."

"Don't you think it'll help you?" Rose said carefully.

Tommy shook his head. "I don't know... Everyone here is so enthusiastic, they go crazy over every little record they produce... My past would kill them," he finished with a bitter scoff. 

They had arrived at the attic. Tommy took out his key and opened the door.

“Welcome to my lovely place,” he said, sardonic.

"It's a little dark," Rose observed, and Tommy knew she was being gentle. It was midday and the room looked like a bat's home.

He pulled the curtains open and the sun hit the room with force, revealing also flies and ants hidden in the dust. At the street below, some grunge kids were smoking.

“So all your stuff fits here?” Rose asked. Tommy turned around: she was looking around the place.

“I don’t have much. Would you close the door, please?”

“Sure.”

Tommy sat on the bed, where the Music box was, and got a Poison cassette out of it.

“This is what I’ve got to unpack.”

Rose sat down next to him and said, grabbing the cassette, “ _Flesh and Blood_! They don’t sell this one anymore.” She ran her fingers through the front.

“They should.”

Rose put the cassette on the bed. “So all you have in that box are records?”

“No, there's photographs and letters too.”

“Ah.”

Tommy could feel Rose’s eyes on him as he took out the records out of the box. He wondered if it was a condescending, pitying or tender gaze. He found Liz’ picture, the one Steve had taken out of both of them, and stayed with it for a while, looking at it with soft eyes.

“Is that a picture of your girlfriend?” Rose asked. Tommy nodded and gave it to her. “She was beautiful… What did she overdose on?"

"Heroin."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be…" Tommy lowered his head, lips pursed. "It was my fault."

"How come?"

"I didn't stop it when she was too hooked on it… because I was also hooked. And I got late when she OD'd."

"You were both using?"

Tommy grimaced, almost like a bitter smile. "We thought it was nothing. We thought we could use it everytime we wanted to feel good."

"Natalie thought so too. A friend of mine. I'm not judging you, don't worry."

"Thanks."

Tommy took out a photo of Steve, Frank and him, remembering Jennifer took the picture, and put it on the bed.

"Is this outside a show?” Rose asked.

“Yeah, we went to see the Dolls. San Diego, '88.”

“I remember. It was my last show with them, before Paul and I broke up.”

“It’s so weird…” Tommy said.

“What.”

“That you call him Paul. He’ll always be Terri to me.”

"And he'll always be Paul to me," Rose said with a smirk.

Tommy smiled back, grabbed a pack of records, holding them as if they could burn them severely, and put them next to the photographs.

"That's it, my Terror Dolls collection."

Rose picked them one by one. "Wow, the four of them and the compilation. I only have the first two."

Tommy had taken out a lighter and a cigarette. "You mind if I smoke?"

"No, I smoke too", Rose answered as he picked a CD. He lightened the cigarette. "You mind if I put Lipstick Jungle on? This is so quiet…"

Tommy dragged on the cigarette and blew the smoke out. "Oh, I don't know what would happen if I listened to the Dolls again."

"You mean because of the memories?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you gotta listen to them again sometime, right?"

Tommy didn't answer. He laid on his back and continued to smoke.

"You have to face it, Tommy. Just like I did with Natalie."

"How so?" Tommy said in a hollow voice, still staring at the ceiling.

"We shared a place. When she died I had to stay there, seeing her room everyday, her records, all her stuff. I couldn't just throw it in the garbage, you know... And in the end it passed. I moved on."

Tommy blew a smoke ring. "Put the record on," he said softly.

Rose let out a small chuckle. "Don't feel obligated..."

"No, no, you're right, I should move on."

He felt footsteps and the sound of his CD player. Then, another sound and finally, the first track of Lipstick Jungle. He smiled, much to his surprise.

"See? It's not too bad."

"That was Frank's favorite song. We used to play it over and over at Steve's basement... But I liked _Waiting on You_ better. _Sunset Strip Nights_ is kind of overrated, don't you think?"

"A bit overplayed, yeah. What was your band called?"

"Nothing too original. Horror Dolls." Tommy chuckled and Rose smiled.

"What instrument did you play?" she asked.

"Rhythm guitar."

He felt the bed sinking and turned his head: Rose had laid next to him.

"Care to share?" She said, raising her hand in an oval shape.

"Sure."

He gave her the cigarette and a moment later another smoke ring filled the air.

"You know what's funny, though?" Tommy said.

"What."

"After Liz died Frank told me he had slept with her. He said he was sorry and crap. He said she was unhappy with me. And I obviously never learned the truth… But she wouldn't do that to me, right? She loved me…"

"For how long were you together?"

"Three years. We started using on our last year… I thought we could handle it because we were already smoking pot too…" he sighed and inhaled more nicotine. "Next thing I knew, we were both hooked on the stuff and… I was supposed to protect her." Tommy half-smiled with bitterness and turned his head to her companion. "That's the story of Tommy. You can leave now, knowing what I am".

"I won't," Rose said. Her eyes had the kind of pity Tommy didn’t reject or felt repulsed at. Instead, he was relieved and grateful. "You're not the only one with this type of story these days."

"That feels better."

"You're not being sarcastic?"

"No. It really feels better not to be so alone anymore."

Rose took her turn to smoke. They went back to staring at the ceiling.

"Why do you think she might have cheating on you?

"'Cause she was at Frank's when she OD'd. I'll never know if she was there because he gave us the stuff or because…" Tommy breathed in. "It kills me not to know."

Rose didn't say anything, so the music filled the silence completely. Bad boys don't play rock n roll. It was a cover.

"We had a lot in common, me and Liz. Our old men used to beat us up."

"Sorry... It's that why you guys used?"

"Yeah… Both our families were fucked up, you won't want to know. Liz ran away with me after high school."

"Huh... You never went to college?"

"No," Tommy said defensively.

"Me neither," Rose said proudly. "College was never for me. Being around bands, that's way better."

"I agree," Tommy grinned.

A whole chorus passed by before there was a knock on the door.

"Terri spilled some soda, Tommy."

"Coming right up," Tommy stood up and looked at Rose. "Sorry…"

"What for?"

"You probably thought I had a cool job here, and I'm just the cleaning boy…"

Rose had sat up on the bed. "Oh, nonsense, any job is a job."

Tommy smiled. "You're cool, Rose. Thanks for listening to my crap. Really."

"Oh, it's nothing. We all have our crap."

They laughed. He took out money from his jeans pocket

"Here's what I owe you."

"Tommy!" the voice from the outside yelled.

"Coming!"

Tommy and Rose came out of the room and went downstairs, where Terri was playing a card game with Carl and T.J. The last two were drinking beer and Terri soda, but each had a cigarette in their hands.

"Hi, Paul," Rose said chirpily and with a smirk, making Terri turned around while Tommy cleaned the drops on the table and watched the scene.

"Kitty?" Terri said. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been following you."

"What?" Terri mumbled, his face paler than usual.

But Rose cackled, quickly followed by the other men. "I'm kidding, you doofus! I came to visit a friend," she glanced at Tommy. "And I go by Rose now, thank you."

"Really?" Terri said. There was a pause. "Come join us, for old time's sake."

The other men in the room watched furtively.

"I'd love to, but I have to work," Rose said.

"That sucks…" Terri said.

"Well…" Rose hung her purse on her shoulder. "See you around, Tommy!" she waved.

"See ya!"

 

 

 

The bar had grunge music on again, but this time it was more crowded. It was Friday night and Tommy sat in the same stool again, talking about Liz and the Terror Dolls with Rose as he drank rum.

"Yeah, I remember Vegas…" Rose said. "Crazy shit."

"It was a miracle we got out of there alive." Tommy suddenly laughed. "Virginia wanted Terri's autograph so she kept dragging us to go back."

Rose smirked.

"And there's a lot of other stuff that happened that night that you fans don't know about."

"Really? Such as...?"

Rose smiled, enigmatic. "All in its due time, Tommy, all in its due time…"

The lyrics were depressing Tommy again, so he asked Rose about the Heart Throb Mob she had attended to.

"Oh, it was such a blast," Rose's eyes twinkled as she smiled. "Great crowd, great songs, everyone was dressed like in the eighties... You'd think glam was alive again."

"Do you think it has a chance of reviving? Glam, I mean."

Rose's smiled faded and she sighed. "Oh, I don't think so, Tommy. We're a very small fanbase now. And with the crazy hair those guys sport and the high heels…" she shook her head. "I don't think they'll ever show them on MTV."

"Well… It's their loss."

_I woke the same as any other day_

_Except a voice was in my head_

_It said, "Seize the day, pull the trigger_

_Drop the blade and watch the rolling heads”_

"Have you visited Liz’ grave?" Rose suddenly asked.

"No… it'd be too... I don't know, weird?"

She got another order from the waitress and read it.

"Why?" She said, and turned to prepare the drink.

"I don't know..." Tommy said, making an effort to sound louder than the blender. "I guess I still don't wanna deal with it. I mean, I killed her, in a way", he grimaced. The blender had stopped. "And sometimes I have nightmares where I go visit her and everyone else is there too, fucking staring at me."

Rose was facing him again, making quick margaritas.

"We could go early," she said, "before sunrise."

Tommy thought about it for a moment.

"Okay," he said. And then, not knowing exactly why, he added: "Thanks."

"No problem. It's Saturday alright with you?"

"Yeah, sure."

 

 

 

The night was cool, neither too cold nor too hot, and Rose's car moved smoothly along the highway. She had put a Poison album on and the lyrics brought more memories to Tommy.

It was a happy memory this time, playing before his eyes like a videotape. Liz was helping him with the glam make-up, at the dirty bathroom of a cheap L.A. Club. After she was done, Tommy adjusted his tight spandex pants and stormed the stage with his bandmates. The girlfriends wished them good luck before meddling into the crowd.

_I won't forget you, baby_

_I won't forget you_

_Even though I could_

Liz wouldn't cheat on him, Tommy thought as he watched the road ahead and leaned back on his seat. Frank had more money and looks than him, but Liz loved Tommy, he was sure of that.

He now remembered their first kiss, at the parking lot of a Terror Dolls show, and his lips curved into a tiny smile. It was just the drugs, just the drugs, he repeated in his head.

"Poison was awesome, right?" Rose said from the driver's seat.

"Is," Tommy corrected.

"You think they’re gonna stay around?"

"Yeah, I'm hopeful. Maybe not as a glam band anymore, but they’ll play again. C.C will come back."

She smiled at him, looked at the road again and said, "So… What do you wanna talk about for two hours?"

They laughed.

"I don't know," Tommy said. "I've pretty much told you all about me and I know nothing about you."

"Yes you do," Rose said and their smiles widened. "I'm Kitty Lovell and Terri Kills wrote me a song."

There was more laughter.

"But seriously---" Tommy started saying.

"Seriously, I'm from Pennsylvania, like Paul; I ran away from home when I was sixteen and that's how I met him, just hanging out with LA bands, sleeping around…" she chuckled and Tommy smirked.

"Always a bad girl…"

"Oh yeah, from birth. Drove my parents crazy, but I've toned it down now."

_Oh my God, look what the cat dragged in_

_Living my life sin after sin_

"Hey," Tommy said, "may I ask you something a bit nosy?"

Rose laughed. "I was on tabloids, Tommy, I'm used to it."

"Alright... Did it ever get serious with Terri?"

"To be honest, at some point… I don't know, I guess I got attached and it wasn’t just physical anymore?"

"Right."

"Yeah, but Paul was an asshole, you know, he must have slept with a zillion girls while at was waiting at home."

"He bought you a house?" Tommy’s eyes widened.

"Yeah, when the Dolls went platinum."

"You've lived quite a life."

"Yeah…" Rose's lips curved. "I've had a good run."

"No regrets?"

"No regrets."

The record had finished playing, so Rose put another one: _Cool Kids_ by Kix.

"How did you meet your current boyfriend?"

"Oh, that's a funny story," Rose said, and Tommy’s eyebrows arched in interest. "I dropped a glass at the bar and had to get stitches in my hand. He's a nurse."

"Huh. That's nice."

"I told you. I've toned it down."

A sudden and frightening thought came over Tommy.

“He’s not mad we’re hanging out, is he?”

Rose smiled. “Not at all. He’s not the jealous type. I’ve told him about you, actually.”

“Really?” Tommy said, frightened again. But Rose calmed him down.

“Nothing too personal, don’t worry. I just told him I’m helping you out.”

_We want cool kids out on the corner_

_Cool kids, out on a limb_

_Cool kids looking for someone, looking for something_

_Looking for somebody, tonight_

"Hey, I never asked you…" Rose said. "How come you ended up at Hairspray?"

"After I got out of rehab, I left LA and started playing songs on the street. You know, for a dime”

"Wow, really?”

“Yeah. Then Carl, my boss, saw me and offered me a job at the label. He saved my life”.

A guitar solo filled the silence.

"So what exactly happened with these friends of yours?" Rose asked after a while.

"We drifted apart…" Tommy replied and sighed. "It actually started before Liz died. Me and her were always different from the others."

"Different how?"

"Poor," Tommy said, apologetic. "We all were the best of friends while our band was active, but everything changed when the Dolls broke up. We didn't have anything to keep us together anymore. And most of them, I saw them for what they really were. Specially the night Liz died. I lost contact with the rest of them when I got into rehab."

"Oh. I'm sorry, man.”

Tommy nodded once, letting the music filled the silence.

After the song was over, he yawned and said, with tired eyes, "I'm gonna crash, if you don't mind."

"It's okay."

Before laying on the backseat again, he told Rose to wake him up upon their arrival.

"That's her?" Rose asked.

Tommy nodded.

 

_Elizabeth Forth_

_1970 - 1993_

_The fire in your heart will keep on burning_

 

Tommy’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. It was the verse of one of the Dolls songs. Holding the roses with one hand, he sat down next to the tombstone.

The memories came to him, this time mixed with different ones: the ones he never had, the ones he would have lived had he made different choices. He saw Liz without needle scars and happy, Liz hugging him on a wedding gown, a small apartment, his guitar, friends coming over.

His fingers traced over the tombstone for a while before reaching for the other bouquets. The red one had Alex's name on the tag, a multicolored one was from Tiffany, the white one was from Liz' mother and the pink one from her sister. Tommy hated the rest of them that morning, the so-called friends who hadn't even bothered to pay a visit. But then again, neither had he.

No, it's different, he told himself as he grabbed his own bouquet of white flowers. He held the tag and wrote in tiny handwriting, so it would fit: Will always love you. He figured he didn't need to add his name and put the flowers on the tombstone itself.

"Everything alright?" Rose asked, next to him.

Tommy looked at her and his eyes filled with tears. He tried to wipe them out with his hand.

Rose chuckled. "Don't be embarrassed... Oh, I've got something for her too."

"You do?" Tommy’s voice came out fragile.

Rose nodded and searched in the pockets of her leather jacket. Tommy’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Terri's bandana, soft orange as he remembered it, coming out.

"I thought she would have liked this," Rose said as she got on her knees. "And I don't need it anymore, so…" She tied the bandana horizontally to the tomb.

"Aren't people gonna steal it?" Tommy said.

"I'll tell the guy to keep an eye on it," Rose, now standing up, nodded towards the entrance.

Mixed with the colors of dawn, there walked in a familiar figure. Her hair was shorter, she hadn't make-up on and she was wearing an expensive suit and sunglasses, but Tommy recognized her: Jennifer, once (or maybe still) Alex's girlfriend.

She moved among the tombs quickly in spite of her high heels, looking for a name.. When she was about seven feet away from Tommy and Rose, she knelt before a grave and crossed herself.

And Tommy waited. He waited in silence for her to visit Liz, to remember Liz was also in that cemetery.

But Jennifer never did.

As he watched her go, Tommy said to Rose:

"We used to be close. Is this how it's gonna be from now on?"

"People change, Tommy. I only keep two friends from the lot I had. You gotta move on."

"Cut my hair and all that, you mean?"

Rose let out a small chuckle. "God, no. I ain't cutting my hair or listening to that grunge crap any time soon. I mean to move on from people, from all the shit that happened. Only keep the memories that make you happy, it's what my grandma used to say."

"Yeah…" Tommy said, hopeful. "Yeah, I think your grandma's right..." He sighed and looked up directly at the sun, his sunglasses protecting him. "It's hard, though. I don't know."

"Yeah, it takes time," Rose said. She looked at him with a little bit of a smirk in her face. "You survived the eighties, Tommy. You can achieve anything."

He chuckled and smiled back. They stayed in silence for a long while as they smoke.

When Rose was finished, she threw her cigarette's butt on the ground and asked Tommy if he was ready to leave, to which he nodded.

"Let me just write something for her," he said.

He hadn't planned anything, so he was lucky to find a piece of paper in his pocket. He had picked it up from the trash can at Hairspray; it was one of Terri's many song ideas he ended up dismissing. "White coffins" was the title. _Sick and tired of putting flowers onto white coffins / but baby if it were me inside a coffin / would you remember we were once lovers?_

Tommy flipped it over and wrote:

 _I'm sorry, Liz. About everything. I'll always love you._  

As they left the cemetery, he was crying softly, like children do when they want to hide the pain they feel after a fall. He was thankful for his sunglasses and glad Rose had noticed but didn’t try to engage in conversation. So it was a silent ride out of Hollywood, with only Simon and Garfunkel to keep them company on low volume. _I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes and pain is all around / Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down…_

 

 

It was Terri Kills' first show after leaving the band he once led, and he had chosen the Zuma’s as his starting point. Word of mouth had spread fast and Dolls fans waited at the place while drinking and chatting. Tommy, next to Rose, was happy to find nostalgics like him still existed out there.

Rose, her boyfriend and Tommy had first row tickets. They had been waiting for two hours when Terri showed up, smiling and waving humbly at the excited crowd. He hang his acoustic guitar on his shoulder and started playing the first track of his album, called (never more appropriately, according to Tommy) “Moving On”.

_Here I stand_

_In the ashes of what we once were_

_You can’t bring back the past but you can put it away_

 

_Remember the passion and pain_

_All those nights I was to blame_

_Well it's over, baby, I must return_

_To the place I now call home_

Tommy figured he was going to need more time to understanding it all, to move on, as Rose had advised. He liked to call it _go_ on, it gave him a sense of direction, a forward direction. If days ago somebody had told him he was going to be on first row of Terri Kills' debut solo show, with no other than his famous ex-girlfriend and feeling quite happy, Tommy wouldn't have believed it.

But all in all, he was smiling and felt excitement and comradeship and all those things he thought dead merely weeks ago.

"So what do you do at Hairspray?" Rose's boyfriend asked, quietly because Terri was playing a ballad.

"I'm the cleaning boy," Tommy replied, this time with a self-amusing smile.

"You should totally move to mixing," Rose opined.

"Me?" Tommy said, eyebrows up.

"Yeah," Rose said. "You must have learned something by now."

"I know the basics."

"Then go for it," Rose encouraged him. Tommy smiled at her, seriously considering her advice. Wasn't it always his childhood dream to work in the music industry? I'll give it a go, he thought before directing his eyes to the stage again.

Terri kept singing about leaving places, being alone, feeling nostalgic and moving forward at the same time. It all resonated with Tommy in such a powerful way that he was embarrassed to admit he had a knot in his throat. He had always thought Terri was too tough for feelings, but now he felt the two of them weren't that different from each other. Maybe there were more Tommys in the world, cast away and in need of some sort of connection, a human touch.

The crowd went mad at the last song, cheering and clapping their heads off. They wanted another one, but Terri bowed humbly, left his acoustic guitar on the floor and left the stage waving goodbye at everyone. Tommy had stood there, waving back as hypnotized.

The memories hurt a lot less now.


End file.
